


A Home For Incomplete Stories

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Collection of Pairings, Cleaning Out My Google Drive, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Please Keep In Mind That A Lot Of These Will Not Be Complete, Pride and Prejudice inspired Jamione, incomplete fics, most of them actually - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: Welcome to MrsRen's not so imaginary home for half-written stories. Pairings, tags, and warnings at the top of each chapter.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/James Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson (part one)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU SKIP BELOW.**

**I'm cleaning out my Google Drive. Most of these stories that find their home here are not finished. This oneshot is definitely not completed, but you're welcome to leave feedback or let me know if you'd like to see it completed. Or, even if you don't. I just wanted to have a home for things I enjoyed, but with a warning that they weren't completed!**

**Pairing: Pansy Parkinson/Hermione Granger. Sixth Year AU. Body Switch. Sligh dub-con. (Technically?) Unfinished, and leaves off at an...** _**unsatisfying** _ **place.**

* * *

Hermione didn't care for Ron's boisterous rundown of their last quidditch match against Ravenclaw. She'd attended the match, as had everyone else in the room, so was it so necessary to explain it to Dean _again_? She was careful to stir their potion clockwise four times, and then counterclockwise two times. Professor Snape had been adamant about that.

"Ron," she said. Her voice was drowned out by two hearty laughs. "Ron," Hermione raised her voice a bit, worriedly shooting a glance toward the greasy haired professor who stood at the head of the classroom. "Ron, could you pass me the frog leg?" she asked.

She was quickly growing tired of always doing the work, but she somehow doubted it would ever end.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Ron slipped on a slick spot, crashing into the table, and sending their shared cauldron crashing to the floor. The sticky mixture splashed across Hermione's shoes and the hem of her robes as the class burst into laughter. Behind her, Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering and muttering insults under their breath.

Professor Snape came to stand in front of them, his arms crossed over his chest. His lips were pursed into a thin line, and Hermione could only think of one thing, and that was how unamused he appeared. "Mr Weasley, you've ruined what would have otherwise been a perfect Elixir to Induce Euphoria."

Ron's face turned red, the crimson blush creeping to the tips of his ears. "It was an accident."

"Clearly," Professor Snape said flatly. "An easily avoided one just as well. I assume everyone here watched your last quidditch match, followed by your abysmal save." Slytherins sniggered behind them.

She swallowed, looking from Ron to their Professor. "Professor Snape, with all due respect, don't you think insulting a student regarding an unrelated incident is uncalled for?"

The look he gave her reminded her of the time he had called her an insufferable know it all or commented that he saw no difference regarding her teeth. Hermione internally braced herself with whatever insult would be dealt next.

Professor Snape let a few moments pass before he cleared his throat. "The two of you will be switching partners for the duration of this potion, I believe. Miss Bullstrode, you'll be working with Mr Weasley, though I suggest not letting him stand in front of the cauldron. Miss Parkinson, you'll be working with Miss Granger."

_If only the floor could open up and swallow her whole._

Hermione clenched her jaw and made her way to the table. Setting her bag on the floor, she didn't look at the other girl as she reopened her text book and set to work. "Let's finish this as quickly as possible." Hermione muttered.

Parkinson snorted. "Doesn't that go without saying?"

They worked in relative silence, neither speaking as they settled into an easy routine of Hermione passing the ingredients as they were needed. Normally, Hermione might have attempted controlling the potion herself, but it had already been such a tiring morning, and it was only Monday.

If only Harry would stop insisting that Malfoy was working for Voldemort. He obsessed over watching the map, and continually snuck out under the invisibility cloak when Malfoy vanished from the map.

"I think your pet Weasel is about to fuck up another potion." Parkinson laughed from beside her.

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes widening as she realized in horror that he'd grabbed the wrong vial. "Ron, don't," her voice died in her throat as his potion bubbled over, turning bright orange as it did.

Ron jumped out of the way just in time, just as the cauldron quite literally blew up. Hermione was coated by the liquid, her hair drenched as she hissed in pain.

"You fucking idiot, this is boiling!" Pansy shrieked.

Hermione found that she didn't have a word to say in Ron's defence as Professor Snape hurried to take them to the hospital wing.

* * *

After applying burn paste to both of them, and administering pain potions, Madam Pomfrey said there was nothing wrong with them at all. The mist brewed potion seemed to have no negative, or lasting effects it seemed, the Hogwarts Matron said.

Hermione found that it was bullshite the next morning.

She'd retired to bed in Gryffindor tower, ignoring Parvati and Lavender's giggles, as she had done every night for years. She'd rolled into her bed, pressed her face to the pillow, and smiled as Crookshanks curled into a ball behind her knees. And she hadn't dreamed, but she was certain she was dreaming as she woke up.

It wasn't Gryffindor tower. Hermione had never visited the Slytherin dorms, her chance having passed her by in second year when she'd turned into a bloody cat. The damp feeling that soaked into her bones gave it away however.

Hermione swung her legs, realising that they weren't her legs at all, over the side of the bed. Millcent Bullstrode, and Tracey Davis were soundly asleep still, and Hermione quickly crept out of the room.

She thought she might have shrieked as she looked in the bathroom mirror.

Pansy fucking Parkinson.

This was not happening.

It couldn't be happening.

* * *

Forced to confront the awful truth that it was happening, Hermione dressed in a Slytherin skirt, which was much shorter than any of hers, a freshly pressed oxford, and robes that weren't her own.

Hermione followed behind Draco Malfoy, silently praying to herself that he wouldn't attempt talking to her, out of the common room, and up the stairs. While she knew that she needed to find, er, herself technically since she could assume Parkinson was in her body, Hermione didn't particularly want to do so.

As she made her way through the corridor, she heard a door open, and then a hand was over her mouth and ripping her inside the cupboard. "Be quiet!"

The light was switched on and Hermione found herself face to face with herself. "Did you _shorten_ my skirt?" Hermione hissed, her voice not her own at all.

Pansy smirked, the expression not suiting 'Hermione' at all. "You're boring, Granger. What the fuck happened?"

"I don't know." Pansy pushed her to the storage rack behind her. "Get your hands off of me." Hermione shoved her back. "I have no idea, but I'm sure it's related to Ron's blunder yesterday in Potions. I'll visit Madam Pomfrey later for an antidote."

"We'll go right now!" Pansy snapped.

Hermione shook her head. "No, we should attend classes as if everything is normal. I'll go during my free period. For now, just...act normal, and fix my skirt."

She rolled her eyes. "Definitely not. The same goes for you. Don't go off trying to save house elves, and the world while you're in my body."

Hermione glared at her. "I won't make a fool out of you if you don't make a fool out of me." She settled with before turning on her heel.

* * *

The second time Pansy cornered Hermione, it was in the library. "Gra-Parkinson," she seethed, casting a dark look toward a few second years who lingered for too long. "What are you staring at?"

They all but sprinted out of the library.

Hermione sighed tiredly. "Would it kill you to at least pretend to be kinder? You're posing as me afterall."

She watched her own face scowl at her, and it unnerved her. "Yes, well, about that," Pansy huffed, placing her hands on her hips.

Hermione noticed that her shirt was still _too_ short, but what really held her attention was how stern she looked. _Merlin, do I always look like that when I put my hands on my hips? I look like Molly Weasley!_ She cleared her throat. "I stopped by the hospital wing if that's what you're here for. She couldn't help."

Pansy's nostrils flared. "She couldn't help?" she echoed. "What the _fuck_ do you mean she _couldn't_ help?" It was undeniably a screech.

As Madam Pince rounded the corner, her face a Weasley shade of red, Hermione could only think that she would never use that tone with anyone again.

It was bloody terrifying.

"Out!" The librarian snapped, shaking a bony finger at them while shooing them from the room. "I would have expected such an outburst, not to mention foul language, from Miss Parkinson, but you have severely disappointed me today, Miss Granger. You may revisit the library in a week's time. I suggest you have your friends pick up any books you might need."

Both girls were pushed from the library.

Hermione glared at Pansy, brushing the unfamiliar black fringe-which was now hers-from her face. "You're an idiot. I was researching what was wrong with us, but now you've gone and gotten us banned from the library."

Pansy snorted, her lip curling back in a cruel sneer that did not fit the body she was currently trapped in. "I'm sure you're utterly heartbroken."

Dragging a hand down her face, Hermione fought the urge to strangle the witch. It wouldn't do if she did, considering she would be killing herself, and then she might never get her body back. "When I tried to tell Madam Pomfrey we had switched bodies, I couldn't."

"Then don't be so bloody shy-"

"-No, what I mean to say is that I physically cannot tell her. I tried to blurt it earlier at dinner, but it's not possible. I think you'll find you're only able to discuss it with me as well."

Pansy's eyes widened, her hands curling into fists. "We're stuck like this?"

"Well, yes. I'd hoped to find something in the library, though I'm not sure-"

"Parkinson," a male, quite familiar, voice barked. "What are you doing? You promised you'd accompany us to our quidditch practice today."

She froze, the reality of the situation washing over her. For all intents and purposes, she was Pansy Parkinson, which meant that Draco Malfoy was likely a friend.

Internally, she gagged when she recalled the rather public display of affection the two of them had put on in the middle of the last Hogsmeade visit. On the love of all that was holy, she swore she would never be caught dead kissing Malfoy, not even to avoid attention.

She squared her shoulders, watching in horror as Pansy tried to say something, anything really. 'Hermione's' lips opened and closed, a strangled sound emitting from them, but not a word escaped her. Chocolate coloured eyes snapped to hers, and Hermione turned away.

"Oh, yes," Pansy's voice sounded far more confident than she felt. She tilted her head to the side, flashing a small smile. "The two of us had to discuss an assignment we have due to Weasley's blunder in Potions yesterday."

Malfoy hooked his arm through hers, a sign of possession more than anything else, and pulled her down the corridor.

Bile raised in her throat as she was forced to laugh as they, unknowingly, called Parkinson a Mudblood, their voices loud and echoing.

* * *

She'd written a note to Parkinson, spent just enough time to cast a series of charms so that no one else would read it, and sent it to Gryffindor tower. She had a plan, but they truly needed to not be caught.

Hermione managed to duck into the Hogwarts Library just after midnight, her robe wrapped tightly around her as she made her way back to the table she'd sat at a few hours earlier. Pansy was already sitting there, a wipsy fabric beside her, and her fingers were laced together. "Potter has an invisibility cloak." she muttered in disbelief.

"Yes," Hermione swallowed. "And he also has a map that tells him where everyone in the school is. So if we're going to meet in the middle of the night, we need to not be caught."

"And just what do you suggest, Mudblood?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry about that."

"I don't care for your apologies, and I don't care for being called a filthy Mudblood either." Pansy retorted scathingly.

She flinched as if she had been struck. Despite knowing that Pansy was unlikely to have a sympathetic bone in her body, Hermione whispered, "How do you think I feel about hearing it nearly everyday?"

The other girl stopped moving, but only for a moment before fixing Hermione with a hard stare as she rose to her feet. "Again, in case you just forgot how to do such a basic thing as-"

"-You're such a bitch!" Hermione snapped, her voice just slightly too loud.

Reality came crashing down on them once again. It was the middle of the night, and they were out after curfew. An irritated meow came from around the corner, and Hermione's eyes snapped to Pansy's. "Grab the cloak. We need to go." She slid beside Pansy beneath it, the feat being much easier to achieve when it was two girls. "Follow me." Hermione whispered.

They barely passed Mrs Norris, and then Filch, who was cooing to his beloved familiar that there must be children out and about. He theorized out loud as to whether or not Headmaster Dumbledore would expel them upon discovery, and he was giddy at the prospect.

Hermione led Pansy up several flights up moving stairs, coming to the familiar tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. "Listen to me closely, and don't argue. We're going to walk in front of this area," she motioned, "three times. I need you to think 'we need a place to talk alone.'"

"You don't have to treat me as if I'm some dumb little Mu-"

Rounding on her, Hermione pressed her wand to Pansy's throat. "Finish that sentence and I'll be sure everyone knows about Draco's mission."

Pansy clamped her mouth shut. She followed Hermione, her eyes widening as the door appeared and she was yanked inside. Freezing at the door, she looked around the room several times before taking a seat on the sofa. "So, you know then."

Hermione sighed. "I knew that Malfoy wasn't even playing quidditch, so when he asked me if I was coming to the practice, I was certain something was wrong. Harry's suspected him since the beginning of the term."

"Did Draco…" the name sounded terribly odd coming from Hermione's lips. "Did he tell you what his mission was?" There was a degree of hope in Pansy's voice, and she appeared to be crestfallen as Hermione shook her head.

"No, or I would tell you. I didn't ask you to the library so we could figure a way out of this, and we will, but…" Hermione trailed off.

She was weary, rubbing her eyes, which were red, assumably from tears. "Then why gallivant through the castle in the middle of the night?"

"I need you to make an Unbreakable Vow." Hermione murmured. "I think you will find it suits both of us. I will promise to breathe no word of whatever Malfoy is doing, as long as you promise to keep any and all information about Harry secret."

Pansy looked up at her. "If your two friends ever find out about this, they'll be furious that you knew."

"Harry already suspects Malfoy is a Death Eater. It's only a matter of time before he has the evidence. I promised myself I would protect Harry, and I have every intention of doing that." Hermione said.

Pansy rested her arms on the back of the couch, nibbling her lower lip. "Alright."

"That's it?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow shooting up. "You're not going to argue?"

"Honestly, I'm just so fucking tired." Pansy sighed.

* * *

If Harry knew where 'Hermione' had gone in the middle of the night, he hadn't said anything.

As she watched the Gryffindor table with carefully disguised interest, Hermione picked at her potatoes. They were coming up on the weekend now, and she was still no closer to discovering why they hadn't switched back. She hoped that the effects of the botched potion would wear off soon enough, perhaps once they reached a week.

She wasn't sure what they were going to do if that wasn't the case.

She counted herself lucky that Malfoy was too absorbed in whatever it was that he'd been tasked with considering the majority of the school would be in Hogsmeade tomorrow.

Loud laughter sounded around her, and she glanced up from her plate. All eyes, even from other houses, were on the Gryffindor table. Hermione watched as Pansy grimaced, her fingers gripping a fork too tightly. _Just what-_

It was presumably a Slytherin who casted the charm, which carried the young Gryffindor's voice across the entire Great Hall. And Hermione could only watch on in horror.

It would seem that Ron Weasley, her friend for several years now, and not so secret crush, had finally plucked up his courage to make a move. It would have been splendid, only Hermione was destined to watch it crash and ultimately burn. His cheeks were as red as his hair as he waited for a response.

'Hermione' swallowed, shifting in her seat, and looking completely uncomfortable. "I, um, I can't. I'm sorry, Ron. I'm just not interested in dating right now. You know how important my studies are to me."

All of sudden, just from watching from the outside, Hermione could see how irritating she must be when she harped about her marks. Ron would never realise what had happened at all, not when Pansy's go to response had been something she would have said.

Pansy was on the receiving end from a fierce glare from across the room, where one witch's fingers were twitching toward her wand.

* * *

It was a short argument considering they were due to be in the village any moment.

Hermione scowled. "I liked him, you know!" she snapped.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Surely you're kidding. Even you can do better than Ron Weasley! He's a blundering oaf, and you sure as fuck deserve better. He's a prick!" They weren't just the words of someone who despised 'blood traitors.'

She looked down the corridor to be sure they were alone. "Did something happen?"

Adjusting her red scarf and her shiny prefect pin, Pansy looked away. "Look, Granger, I don't think you want to know. He's an arsehole."

"Don't tell me what I'd like to know."

"He snogged that Brown bint, and then I was forced to listen as she relayed to Parvati how he got into her knickers."

Hermione faltered. "It's been… It hasn't even been a full day since he asked me to Hogsmeade!"

"He's a fucking prick, and I'm going to hex him the first time I see him tonight. I may not fancy him one little bit, but that's just too far."

It was just a miniscule moment, and in the long run, it didn't matter at all, but still. Hermione murmured, "You're alright, Parkinson."

Pansy pretended to not have heard her.

* * *

Hermione discovered what had gone wrong while in a bookshop in the middle of Hogsmeade. Certain her cheeks are still positively flaming, Hermione avoided Pansy for several days thereafter. It only worked until she was making her way through patrols-it came in handy that Parkinson was a prefect too-and was pulled into a cupboard.

"You've been avoiding me." Her tone was cold, and clipped, giving no true emotion away. "Tell me, Granger."

Hermione shook her head. "There's nothing to tell you. Don't tell me you thought I enjoyed your company? I'm not going to seek you out."

"Oh?" she snorted. "Who's acting like the bitch now?"

Several beats of silence passed.

She swallowed hard. "I know what's wrong with us, and you aren't going to like it. Nor will you like how to undo it, and put us back to normal."

In the darkness, Hermione could still see Pansy's body tense, but her eyes were bright with eagerness. "I don't like a lot of things," Pansy drawled. "But there are a wicked amount of things I would do to have my body back."

She laughed. "Funny you should mention wicked things." Hermione sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "I don't know how Ron managed it. He can barely brew proper potions, but he must have added an ingredient incorrectly. Instead of brewing Amortentia, he brewed a potion that is sold under the name Switch. It does exactly what it says. It causes the participants to switch bodies."

Pansy frowned. "Okay, but that doesn't sound so bad."

"Well," Hermione trailed off. "It's marketed toward couples to spice up their sex life, and to end the spell, you have to…" She made an unintelligible motion with her hands.

There was the horrified look Hermione had been expecting. "So we have to fuck?" Pansy choked.

"Achieve orgasm, yes." Hermione whispered, her cheeks flaming hot. "I don't want to sleep with you, and I'm sure you don't either, but I couldn't find any other way to break the spell."

Pansy sucked in a sharp breath. "I would rather bite my own tongue off than sink into a filthy fucking Mudblood."

It didn't sting to hear it anymore. Over the last month that they had been trapped in opposing bodies, Hermione had noticed quite a few things. The main being that Pansy wasn't as angry as often as she let on. "Yes, well, I would hate to sleep with such a foul creature as well." Hermione shot back.

"We just need to achieve orgasm." Pansy said quietly. "When we return to our dorms tonight, we can do just that. Separately, of course."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"You _have_ touched yourself before, haven't you?" Pansy mocked.

She was a teenage girl, not to mention a curious one. Of course she had, but she wasn't discussing that with Pansy. "Yes, but I don't think it will work."

"We'll try anyway."

* * *

Hermione cast a silencing charm around her bed that night, but she still froze whenever her roommates would roll over in their sleep. _Get a grip_ , she inwardly hissed at herself. It wasn't as if either girl would see her thanks to the Notice Me Not charm.

She lied against the pillows, propping her head up as she parted her legs. Her bottoms were discarded in the floor, no longer thought of, and Hermione slid a smooth hand beneath her top. It wasn't her body that she was touching, and it frightened her. As sure as she might be that pleasuring herself wasn't going to break the spell, she would try.

She tried, and failed, not to think about how across the castle, Pansy was doing the exact same thing. Parkinson had grown out of her cruel nickname at least a year ago, and the image of her, her hand sneaking between her thighs kept sneaking into Hermione's mind.

"Fuck!" she growled under her breath.

Imagining another girl wasn't something she'd ever done before. It was only a fantasy, one that was sure to keep coming up until she let it run its course. A moment later, Hermione thought it must have been a side effect of the spell, not that her book had told her that. She was in denial, simply put, but she wasn't likely to admit it.

She didn't imagine herself, which was who Pansy was actually touching, but rather she closed her eyes, and imagined Pansy parting her legs. Enthralled by the fantasy, Pansy's fingers sliding down her belly and parting her folds, baring herself to the girl in front of her. She keened, the noise low, and Hermione imagined herself to be whispering, " _Shh. Someone may hear us."_

" _Don't give a fuck." She moaned, her finger sliding into her cunt. Pansy whimpered when she curled her fingers inside of her, riding her own hand desperately. "I can't move my fingers how I want." A beat of silence passed before she nibbled her lower lip. "Come here, Granger."_

_Hermione croaked, "What?"_

" _Use your fingers, daft little witch."_

Hermione gasped, her fingers sliding against her clit, and her head fell back. Still catching her breath, she stared at the ceiling, coming down from an insurmountable high. _Merlin._

There was a question that begged to be answered, but Hermione ignored it as she rolled onto her side. She ignored the slickness between her thighs, the evidence of what had just occurred. How on earth was she going to look at Parkinson at all?

* * *

Hermione feigned sick the following day. Daphne attempted to peel back Hermione's covers, nudging her, but Hermione would only rip the blankets back to herself and mutter that she felt ill.

She felt like shite. It had taken one quick peek beneath her blanket to see that she was still in Pansy's body, her legs still bare, and her knickers abandoned at the foot of the bed. Last night _had_ happened, and she wasn't sick to her stomach. No, it wasn't that. At the moment, Hermione had absolutely no idea how she felt.

She just didn't want to see Pansy, not when she couldn't stop replaying what her mind had come up with the night before.

Still, she wondered just slightly, what Pansy had imagined to get herself off.

The second day, she had little choice but to pull on her skirt, and brush her hair. Hermione looked to the mirror, frustrated to still see a face that was not her own staring back at her. She made her way out of the dungeons, ignoring Malfoy as he called out for her.

"Hey, Pansy!" He yelled. His fingers curled around her forearm, cold to the touch. "What are you doing tonight?"

Hermione glared at him, wrenching her arm free of his tight grip. "What's it to you?"

He blinked. "Well, I wondered if you'd like to meet me in the Astronomy tower after dinner,"

Hermione cut him off, not allowing him to continue with _that_ thought. "I think not, Draco. Don't you have more important things to tend to?" Her stomach rolled at what she was saying. Here she was telling a freshly branded Death Eater to focus on his bidding for the Dark Lord. What had her world come to?

He averted his eyes, and his right hand lifted to squeeze his left forearm. "I need a break sometimes."

She turned away. "Find your break with someone else. I'm not interested."

Malfoy said nothing else, and she wondered if it was that simple. Had he taken her no at face value? Should she worry that he would get back at her?

In the unfortunate continued string of circumstances that had become Hermione Granger's life, she was paired with Pansy once more in Potions. Professor Snape glared at Ron as he botched another potion, and he banished Miss Granger to the back of the room.

At this point, she was used to staring at herself. Hermione stirred the cauldron, grimacing each time Pansy tried to earn her attention. "Watch what you're doing." Hermione muttered under her breath.

Pansy tried to grab her hand, trying to capture her attention once more.

Really, Hermione had never imagined such a foul word to leave her lips. "Keep your hands to yourself, Mudblood."

The offending hand fell away from her as if she'd been burned, and Hermione did her best to ignore the sudden water pooling in familiar chocolate covered eyes. Pansy fled the classroom, and Hermione found herself on the receiving end of Ronald Weasley's scathing glare.

* * *

She was only able to avoid Pansy for another few hours. Just off the corridor from the entrance to the Astronomy tower where Hermione had been doing patrols as a Slytherin prefect, she was pulled into a cupboard.

"We should stop meeting like this." Hermione drawled sarcastically. "People might start to talk."

"Oh, I'll give them something to talk about." Pansy sneered. "Who the fuck do you think you are calling me a Mudblood."

Hermione's back met the metal rack behind her after a fierce shove. "I don't have time for this. Unless you have any other brilliant ideas considering your last one didn't work, I'll be leaving." She turned to leave, only she found herself pinned to the wall, Pansy's hands rough against her arms.

"Maybe you just don't know how to have a proper wank." Pansy snarled.

She snorted. "I know perfectly well, thank you. Maybe you're the one who screwed it up."

"Not bloody likely given the way I came over my fingers!" Pansy snapped, and oh, that was not a vision that Hermione wanted at all. "I'm not entirely convinced that we really need to fuck to break the curse. We can try again."

"Sure. I'll have a wank when I go to bed tonight, and then we'll wake up in the morning and _nothing_ will have changed." Hermione replied, her hands rising to Pansy's shoulders. "Get your hands off of me."

The girl blinked, her nose wrinkling in the familiar way that Hermione recognised. "You think I fucked it up, and I think you fucked it up. So we'll just meet in the Prefect's Bathroom tonight."

Hermione stilled. "Absolutely not."

"Too embarrassed to touch yourself in front of someone else?"

Swallowing, Hermione shook her head. "Of course not." No, she was more worried that if she witnessed Pansy for real that she may never get the scene out of her head. She was intrigued by the proposition, and that was incredibly dangerous.

"Then meet me there at nine o'clock." Pansy left her with that, and Hermione slid to the floor of the broom cupboard.

She was in trouble.

* * *

Pansy met her in the Prefect's Bath as promised, sneaking in behind her while under the invisibility cloak.

Hermione was horrified. "Harry is going to be suspicious. I've never asked him to borrow the cloak before, and now he'll think I've asked for it twice. We should have met in the Room of Requirement."

"Can't," Pansy quipped. "Dumbledore's Army is using it tonight. I imagine we have about an hour before Potter even thinks to look for me. He's too distracted with attempting to teach Longbottom how to use his wand."

She sighed. "Don't talk about Neville that way."

Pansy shot her an obscene gesture. "Strip, Granger, or I'll do it myself. Besides, it's nothing I haven't seen before." Pansy didn't hesitate in stepping out of her shoes, rolling her tights down her legs and letting her skirt pool on the floor. "Listen," she muttered as she unbuttoned her shirt, "neither of us want to do this, alright?"

"That's an understatement." Though Hermione was pretty sure their reasons were worlds apart. She unzipped her skirt.

"For the love of Merlin, take your fucking bra off, or I'll vanish it myself!" Pansy snapped.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Forgive me, I don't particularly want to be naked in front of you."

Pansy put her hands on her hips, now in just a pair of lace knickers and a matching bra. It happened to be Hermione's favorite set. "I think we can drop the shyness. I've touched your cunt, you know." She shrugged, taking a step forward, and hooking her fingers into Hermione's knickers. "Once we get our bodies back, we'll never talk about this again."

Maybe so, but Hermione might still remember it.

Vividly.

Hermione unsnapped the clasp of her bra, tossing it onto the floor. She watched as Pansy waved her wand, transfiguring the tub into a much larger one, and the fact that they would be able to sit on opposite sides was a small consolation. "It's not going to work, you know. Mutual masturbation." The water was warm as Hermione stepped into the tub, and she sank into the water.

Pansy glared at her. "This might work better if you don't talk at all." The other girl glanced down at the water, her hand sliding down.

* * *

**I** _**did** _ **warn you at the top that it left off in an unsatisfying place.**


	2. James Potter/Hermione Granger - Pride and Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this oneshot is not completed. It's inspired by Pride and Prejudice and the pairing is James Potter/Hermione Granger. Alternate timeline, marriage law. 

* * *

There were whispers before there were headlines.

Two years post-war, the world had begun to heal even if the root of the problem still existed. Even in the wake of the death of a so called dark lord, prejudices were alive and well. Some might say they were flourishing, even, and who better to know that, than a witch who hadn't been born in this world at all?

An entry-level job at Flourish and Blotts hadn't been in the plans, but unfortunately, there were only a select few positions available when it came to favorable positions in the British Ministry, and they'd only accepted one Muggleborn. And while officials would feign offence at the accusation, it was the truth.

They had accepted one and in their minds, it would be enough to keep the dogs of the press off their back. How could anyone accuse them of being prejudiced when they'd hired a witch that didn't have magical parents?

The worst part of it wasn't that aging, detestable men made the world this way.

It was that even after a war—after losing _so much_ —the public allowed it.

They looked to her, pity or resentment in their eyes, as she passed them on the street.

 _It's always been this way_ , Sirius had told her.

When Lily had gotten the job offer, they had all celebrated. Orbiting the group that she'd always been a part of, but never truly felt like she belonged in, she'd nursed a glass of wine until James came to stand beside her.

He'd asked her to go outside with him, and without a reason not to, she had. Her fingers had tightened around the glass as he told her that there had been another position—a higher one, he admitted—and he had tried to convince them that she was the most qualified candidate.

The two of them had never been close, and she didn't know why he told her at all as her eyes filled with stubborn tears that wouldn't go away no matter how many times she blinked. She'd asked, of course.

" _You deserved it."_

James Potter barely knew her, and what he did know, was that Remus and Lily were her closest friends.

He didn't know anything of her quality of work, though it wouldn't be too hard for him to guess, she supposed. However, when pressured as to why he'd wanted to help her, the truth had come spilling out.

" _Someone has to," he said, hand wandering to his tie knotted at his throat. "It isn't fair how Muggleborns are treated, and if I could help—"_

He'd worn her wine back to the party, and she'd left without a word.

Which had led to some awkward explanations when Remus tried to Floo into her flat, and got caught in the grate. It wasn't really her fault that he'd done it just as she was cutting it off.

The fact of it was, someone like James bloody Potter thought he needed to step up for her, thought she couldn't plant her own two feet and do it herself.

From the day she entered the wizarding world, she'd promised herself to make anyone who looked down on her choke on their pride.

And she did.

She just _really_ didn't expect how that part came about.

* * *

_October 29th, 1983_

When it came to organising, trainees stayed away from boxes of inventory as they were brought onto the floor. Not for the first time, Hermione had gone behind them to fix their errors, albeit with a pleasant—but still forced—smile.

That morning, however, seemed to creep past, and she knew the feeling excruciatingly well.

The moment right before the world vanished beneath your feet. Hermione remained on edge all day, each ding of the bell of the door making her stiffen before she realised it was just a customer.

Shortly before lunch though, the door slammed open, and the she heard the glass rattle.

"Miss, please—"

Hermione peaked over the shelf just in time to see Lily, her chest rising and falling with shortened breaths. "Are you alright? You look like you ran the whole way here."

Lily nodded.

"You _did_ run all the way here?" Hermione's lips parted, and she brushed the dust from her knees. "Why on earth would you do that? We're supposed to meet for lunch in," she glanced at her wrist, "an hour."

"This couldn't wait." Lily swallowed mouthfuls of air, bracing her hip against the end of the aisle, and crossed her arms over the top of the shelf. "I've just heard, but the Wizengamot is passing some sort of—" her nose crinkled, freckles moving with it "some sort of incentive."

Before she could form a response, Lily slid her arm through Hermione's and led her toward the back of the shelf. "Lily, I really can't do this right now. If my boss comes back and those books are just sitting there…"

In the last few years, she'd seen her friend go through a spectrum of emotions.

She'd seen Lily at her worst, and even then, Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever looked as panicked as she did now.

Lily swallowed. "I wasn't meant to overhear the conversation, but I was delivering a stack of files. It'll be in the Prophet tomorrow, but apparently," she lowered her voice, looking around them wildly before shuffling closer to Hermione. "Apparently, they're worried about the birth rates for the next ten years. The Wizengamot in concerned what it will mean if the bloodlines remain pure, and I can assume that's because there's been a rise in squibs for nearly twenty years now."

It meant something that hardly anyone heard of squib children.

"It's inbreeding, Lily. Both of us know that, but I doubt the Ministry is going to take it seriously."

Eyes blown open and her cheeks still flushed, Lily shook her head. "They can't force anyone to do the same, but they've decided to incentivise it."

Hermione said nothing.

"If witches and wizards decide to make the decision to mingle their bloodlines, they'll be promised positions of power. A seat on the board of Governors for Hogwarts, St Mungos, a promised Wizengamot seat—"

"And the partner? If they chose to marry?"

Lily's mouth set in a grim line. "I didn't hear anything about it, but I think the sort to take advantage of this would be the sort that get their way no matter the cost."

* * *

_October 31st, 1983_

Overnight, the world changed.

Two days later, it plunged into chaos.

Hermione lay on her back in her bed, that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet levitated just above her, and the thin profile of her wand rested between her fingers as she idly swished it to the side.

The page changed. There wasn't a need for continued headlines when the each piece of news was the same as the last. In the past thirty-six hours, there had been a record setting numbers of elopements all over Britain, and perhaps she was the only one who took the reality for what it was.

Some of the marriages were unions between purebloods and half-bloods; most of those, Hermione imagined, were marriages that had already been planned, or at least considered, and the promises of the Ministry were too lofty to ignore.

Flipping the paper away with a sigh, Hermione dressed and stepped into her shoes before leaving her flat.

In the shop, on the counter, her boss stood behind an impressive display of floral arrangements that spanned the length of the counter itself. "They're for you."

She nearly wheezed. "There must be a mistake."

"No. It seems you're a sought after commodity now." _Now that the whoever snags you for themselves gets a reward._ The words hung, unspoken, and he turned on his heel.

Hermione thought she would be sick, and her stomach churned as she checked each of the cards.

They were all the same: all invitations to dinner, to view their private _library_ when for fuck's sake, she _worked_ in a book shop. Flowery language penned in flawless penmanship dotted each card, and she grit her teeth, the pressure mounting with each word.

_Sundays are the most lovely day for a walk in our gardens._

_I've always admired your intelligence and your tenacity,_ Evan Rosier had written. She doubted he could even bloody spell _tenacity._ And the thought that he believed that was novel.

_Your curls—_

_Such an intelligent family—_

_Of course, the circumstances of your birth are—_

The bell dinged as her eyes dropped to the bottom of the card and her stomach heaved. "Thank Merlin you're here. My parents have lost their bloody minds." James Potter stood in the middle of the shop, and her fingers tightened on the card. "Do you have a moment?"

"For you? Absolutely not."

He blinked, dark hair dropping into his face, and he had the audacity to look taken aback. "Er, is everything alright?"

She held up the cards, her eyes narrowing in a vicious glare before she shoved it into his chest. "If you've come to insult me in person, save your breath."

"What are you talking about?"

Looking back, Hermione might have listened to what he had to say if he'd read the card before opening his mouth.

"I'm terribly sorry that the circumstances of my _birth_ ," she snarled, and watched his eyes shoot open, "are too poor, but I'll spare you before you waste another second of my time. You are the _last_ man I could ever marry." Her voice cracked across the space between them, and James took a stumbling step backward.

A customer had stepped inside in the middle of it.

"Hermione, wait—"

"I'm not going to be your pet Muggleborn so you can reap the benefits for marrying below your station." Her words carried a mocking tone, and her fingers twitched toward her wand. "Honestly, who uses language like that anymore?"

Dark brows nearly shot into his hairline. "Well, _you_ just did."

She set the card on fire while it was still on fire.

Then the flowers he'd sent.

* * *

_November 1st, 1983_

She expected to read about the last minute ceremonies that had undoubtedly taken place the night before. Hermione had heard of traditions rooted in Samhain, ones that promised to boost fertility if you were willing to pay the price. And those had absolutely taken place while she'd been sleeping, but it was far from what she woke up to.

_SLIGHTED MUGGLEBORN REJECTS POTTER PROPOSAL_

Hermione had no idea who Rita Skeeter was, and for the woman's sake, she ought to pray Hermione never found out.

* * *

Remus was the one to get her to leave her flat, not that Sirius or Lily hadn't tried. "I promise," Remus reassured her via Floo. "James isn't going to be here. I'm sure he'd like to apologize to you, but I doubt he'd bare himself so easily again."

"If he knows what's good for him, he won't."

Sirius laughed, and Hermione walked right into the trap.

* * *

Within twenty minutes of her arrival, the Floo sounded, and she hissed, "Traitors."

James stood in the middle of the living room, and pivoted to leave from where he'd come. But within seconds they were alone following the sound of Apparition, and Hermione wouldn't have doubted it if their friends had locked them inside.

"I didn't know that you'd be here." James cupped the back of his neck, shifting his weight. "I had my suspicious; Sirius is really the world's worst secret keeper when it comes to things like this."

"You thought I might be here, so you came anyway?"

He drew a breath. "It's the only reason I came, really. I meant to talk to you on Halloween, but I was worried I might get the same treatment as that card."

The thought had not been far from her mind.

"I don't—"

"My father sent those flowers."

Hermione froze. "Pardon?"

He shoved his hand into his pocket, his other hand tangling in his hair, and he gave her a weak smile. "My father thinks I should take advantage of this while I think it's mental. My mother is trying to arrange a marriage between the Parkinson's daughter and I because she doesn't approve of it."

" _Oh,"_

"Not that your reaction wasn't warranted. I'd have liked to set a fire under his arse after too. I realize I've put my foot in my mouth more than once when it comes to you."

Her cheeks reddened. "Did you come to the shop for a reason then?"

He grimaced. "I did." James dragged his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I was going to ask you if you would pretend to be engaged to me."

Hermione choked. "What?"

"Yeah, I realized that would be your reaction. It's not right of me to ask anyway, but—"

"Why?"

"What do you mean?" James said. "My parents will relent, eventually. I'm not ready to get married."

Swallowing hard, she wasn't sure what to make of it,but she had publically humiliated him, and she _did_ feel the least bit guilt for that.

It might have been pity.

"If you can beat me in a game of wizard's chess, I'll help you." Hermione said softly. "I don't want this charade to go on any longer than it has to."

"Three months, six at the most," he grinned.

She gaped at him. "That's _double_ the time."

"Two matches then."

In the end, she crumbled.

* * *

_November 6th, 1983_

With a promise from James to keep it quiet until they told their friends, Hermione took her chess match loss easier than she expected. While James' apparent skill had only momentarily surprised her—he'd spent summers playing with his father, he said—his quiet confidence and self-assuredness had not.

Even less surprising, and perhaps slightly irritating, he'd come prepared. The second he'd won, James had grinned, teeth showing, and pulled a box from his pocket.

At her request— _demand was more like it_ —he had not dropped to one knee, and had instead pushed the small velvet box across the table.

With her heart in her throat, she'd reminded him that he needed to win two matches, not just the one, but he'd done that too.

As she moved through the shop, the night still heavy in her mind, she thought of the ring. It was hung on a thin chain she'd inherited from her grandmother, and tucked beneath her shirt. Just in case, she'd cast a subtle charm where no one would see it for what it truly was. By the end of the week, she'd have it on her finger; there would be no other choice.

Knowing she could tell Lily the truth didn't calm the rolling in her stomach, however.

They met for lunch at a restaurant on a corner in Diagon, and Hermione nudged her to a table in the very back of the room. "I need to tell you something."

Lily tilted her head to the side. "Can I go first?"

Hermione nodded.

There was a shimmer of magic, and then there was a ring on Lily's finger, A simple, but pretty band circled her finger, and there was a raised diamond in the center. "I married Remus."

Against all appropriate reactions, Hermione choked. She had expected the two of them to marry, eventually, but she'd just imagined that she might be a part of it.

Lily must have seen that. "It was spur of the moment." The explanation was a thin balm to the hurt. "I've had enough of the marriage proposals, and last night, we made it to the Ministry before we could think about it twice."

She gripped the hidden ring through her shirt, and drew the chain out.

"James and Sirius are upset, but they've promised to forgive us if Remus lets them throw him a proper stag night."

One breath, two breaths.

Hermione disspelled the glamour. "I realize I told you that James didn't send those flowers, or the card, but I didn't tell you everything." She unclasped the chain, and let the ring drop into the center of her palm. "His parents are determined to marry him off, so I've agreed to pretend to be engaged until this passes."

Lily slumped in her seat. "Well, that's—that's not what I expected."

She laughed. "I know."

"You'll forgive me?"

"You know I can't stay mad at you for long."

* * *

_November 15th, 1983_

He was a good man. Perhaps a bit too stubborn, definitely too arrogant, and too prone to tripping over the words that left his mouth, but James Potter was a good man.

However, the fact that he was a wonderful friend, and decent person didn't erase the fact that it could be so bloody hard to like him.

Hermione held no illusions that she was an image of a witch he would have been with had he chosen to be, and while that did sting—but only a little—it was nothing more than another truth that she could gloss over. At least, she had up until she met his father in a stumbling meeting in Diagon Alley while she and James went to dinner to keep up appearances.

Charlus Potter was also a polite man, with a twinkle in his eyes that reminded her of Professor Dumbledore. He greeted her properly, but she was pressed to remember that _this_ man had sent her flowers accompanied by an insult, and that he wasn't a very polite man at all.

She excused herself while the two of them talked, stepping into a quidditch shop that held no interest for her, just to get away from them. That didn't prevent her from overhearing the end of their conversation though, and it made her wonder what the rest of it had sounded like.

"She's not terrible on the eyes." Charlus said.

" _Don't,"_ came the warning, hissed and low, and she wished it didn't affect her as it did.

His father paid him no mind, continuing on anyway. "I remember when all of you were still in Hogwarts. You fancied the other one, didn't you?"

_The other one._

_Lily._

Hermione could ignore so much, and she knew that she wasn't the witch that modeled for magazines, and perhaps she was too bookish, and her hair was—

She could ignore so much, but she didn't have to stand for this. Who would?

"I asked you about her once, when you told me you fancied her friend if you recall."

She ought to move, but she didn't, and neither of them noticed her.

Charlus' laugh was a deep rumble from his throat. "Not handsome enough to tempt you, my boy."

James didn't laugh, but he didn't defend her, and that was just as bad in her eyes.

Hermione made her way down the steps, and pushed between them, not stopping when James called out to catch her.

She didn't particularly care for his apologies afterwards either, which were to tell her that no, he hadn't fancied her, and he hadn't thought she was quite pretty when they were younger—

James Potter was terrible at apologizing.

* * *

_November 24th, 1983_

In the month since the world had been ripped of its axis and rolled by the Ministry, Hermione had learned a few things.

James Potter was consistently rough around the edges, but there was no pretending that the twist in her stomach was only due to a sharp dislike.

Dorea Potter severely disliked her—a fact that could be seen plainly in the course that Dorea had successfully avoided any meeting with her over the past month.

The Daily Prophet was mostly useless when it came to reporting the facts.

There would be a record setting number for divorces in the next five years—for those who had chosen not to magically bind themselves.

Most of all though, James—however arrogant he might be—was a good man, and even when their charade would go up in flames, she could appreciate that.

"In order to receive the incentives," James began over breakfast. "We have to formally register our engagement with the Department of Legal Records."

She sipped her tea with a scowl, and stared at him over the rim of her mug. "Yes, I imagine you want to secure those positions immediately."

He blinked. "What? No, of course not. It's for you."

Her mug nearly slipped from her fingers and a weak breath bubbled up.

"You thought I would take the incentives for myself?" The hurt that crossed his face hadn't been imagined.

Flexing her fingers around her mug, Hermione managed, "Most wizards would."

James' nostrils flared. "I see. Well, since you've made up your mind that I'm like any other wizard, I'm sorry for wasting your time."

She started to apologize, but he'd already gone.

* * *

_November 25th, 1983_

The next time she saw him, she apologized, and was struck still when he accepted it. "You're not angry?"

He shook his head. "It's not as though I've done a good job making myself clear with you. It's not the first time I've put my foot in my mouth either."

They celebrated Remus and Lily's marriage for what felt like the third time in as many weeks, and they toasted their friends, but in the pit of her stomach, Hermione was nervous.

James told her later, "I attempted to make a go at protecting you before, and I realized that what you truly deserved was a chance to protect yourself. A spot on the Wizengamot would do exactly that."

" _The Wizengamot?"_ Hermione gasped softly. "They'll never allow it. Your father will—"

He glanced down at her as he towered over her, fingers clutching the glass in his hand, and he smiled. "I've already contacted the Ministry. It can be either of us, and as long as we register an engagement, it'll be done."

"But we aren't—"

"I've a contract." He breezed past her objections. "Even when we don't marry, the seat is yours."

She couldn't breathe.

His fingers bumped into hers, and then he threaded their fingers together. "And," James added quietly. "I don't give a bloody fuck what my parents think."

* * *

_December 8th, 1983_

The thought to buy him a gift entered her mind in the middle of the afternoon as she rung up a witch that looked down at her. Not that Hermione paid her any mind as she began to wonder just what James would like for a gift.

She'd noticed that his quidditch gloves needed to be replaced since the leather was already breaking down. It felt like a cheap gift, though. Plus, it wasn't thoughtful, but did she _want_ to be thoughtful.

Well, yes.

He'd given her a seat on the Wizengamot.

Lily met her after work, Remus following a short ways behind her, and both of them pulled her into hugs. "James told us you were going to meet his mother this weekend."

The thought was never too far from her mind, but during an afternoon rush, Hermione had blissfully forgotten all about it.

"I'm not looking forward to it." Hermione fidgeted with a loose strand at the hem of her shirt. "Am I terrible?"

Remus shook his head. "Dorea is…" he trailed off, and really, that said all that needed to be said.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cleaning out my google drive. This was originally meant to be written for the Before the Spring Snaps fest, hosted by FB group Fairest of the Rare but unfortunately I didn't finish it. Maybe some day though! 


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